The thrum and hum of the throbbingly busy Starbucks cheers me up, and I take the enormous mug of gingerbread latte (that's venti, skinny, no cream thanks) and hold it up to my mouth. I like the big mugs Starbucks has. Other than a visit to Amsterdam, it's one of the few ways I get to feel tiny.

I feel a shudder at the table and look up as a man gestures to the empty seat across from me.

It's Santa Claus.

I shrug. Why not? I mean, Santa's more likely than most to need a shot of caffeine right about now.

He sets his steaming mug of gingerbread latte (venti, full fat, and with a glooey mound of whipped cream down) on the table, takes off his overcoat and lays it on the bench, and then removes his scarf which catches on the shiny gold belt buckle, providing comic entertainment for me for a period of time as it pulls up over his shirt and reveals a thick swath of white stomach hair.

I am going to go to hell for laughing at Santa Claus's white stomach hair.

He set his newspaper-I am relieved to see it's the Independent, I like an unbiased Santa Claus, it ups my odds-and sits down, his face red.

"Whew. I never thought I would get to sit down and have a cup of coffee!" he chortles. And he does. He chortles. "Sure it's ok if I sit here?"

"No worries, man." I reply. "It's good."

We sit there in silence before my curiousity gets the better of me. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted a cup of java. And since I knew the only way I'd get to talk to you was via text or on your blog, I decided to kill two birds with one stone."

"I see. Why not email me or leave a comment on my blog?"

He takes a sip. "I would, but those damn elves are always on the broadband surfing porn."

I nod. I understand that elves can be quite randy. "But why is it you here? I mean, this is the land of Father Christmas. I guess he should be here, dressed in his long red velvet dressing gown."

"Don't mention that to him. Call his outfit a dressing gown and you're in for a serious bitch slap." Santa says, raising his eyebrows. "I'm so glad this isn't my territory."

"What, you guys have shifts?" I ask, surprised I hadn't thought of it before.

"More like regions. Picture a regional salesman with a bad suitcase in a Ford and you've got the right idea."

"I see." This explains how Santa gets around the world so fast. Work share. Cheeky bugger.

"Father Christmas has it bad." Santa sips. "Do you know what the English set out for him by the fireplace?"

"Yeah, Angus told me. A cup of sherry and a mince pie."

"That poor bastard is tanked halfway through the Southern coast."

"Seriously?" I ask. I love hearing the goss dished on people.

"Yup. I hear those poor kids in Scotland almost never get the right gifts. How else do you think they thought of deep fried pizza? To wile away the time waiting until next Christmas, hoping to get the right gifts. I hear deep fried Mars bars were thought up by Sean Connery, who got an Easy Bake Oven one Christmas instead of the titanium golf clubs he'd asked for."

"Wow." I reply. Santa laughs and takes a gulp of his coffee. He has a thick ring of whipped cream on his mustache that I want to address, however patronizing Santa Claus is a mistake indeed. That's got "give Helen vials of ebola for Christmas this year" written all over it.

"So why are you here, with me, right now?" I ask. Something is not computing, it doesn't add up. Like why a 30 year-old woman is having a dialog with Santa Claus in Starbucks on a busy London morning.

"You may be a long way from home, but you're still one of mine." he replies, and I swear to God there really is a twinkle in his eye. Like Sanrio or anime, only more sparkly. "You, my little American expat, are still on my list, and always will be. Especially this year, as you decided to believe in me again."

"Then I'm glad I shared a table with you." I replied, hoping it wasn't just all about the loot. "Of course, I could've used you last year when I had lost my job and was under the thickest cloud of depression known to man. But hey. Beggars and all."

He smiled. "The job loss wasn't something I could help with. Not to sound like a Little Golden Book or anything, but that was something you had to do on your own. The Gap sweatshirt you love so much though...now that was me."

He's right. I do love that sweatshirt. Does that mean he really does see me when I'm sleeping and know when I'm awake? Does that mean he knows about the hours of fun I've had with my vibrating pocket rocket? It's disturbing and frankly paranoia-inducing to think of Santa perving like that, so I chase the thoughts out of my head. "So what...you're here to find out what I want for Christmas?"

"Pretty much." he nods. "Well, that and to have some coffee. The doctor told me to lay off the caffeine and Mrs. Claus is being a real pain in the ass about it, so I sneak away to have a cup. I'm only human, you know."

"Ok." I think for a minute and have a sip of my coffee, feeling the nutmeg tickle the back of my throat. "How about giving me peace on earth and goodwill towards man?" I ask.

He looks at me. I look at him. We both break out into hysterical laughter, fists banging on the table. I swear to God he really does laugh like a bowl full of jelly. Well, if people actually removed the jelly from a jar and put it in bowls, that is. As one does.

"Ok, ok." I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. "How about a dose of mental health instead? Like to good, healing kind?"

He sighs. "One of these days you're going to have to learn that you're not crazy. You just have some issues. That doesn't mean you're crazy. I know you've really been through a lot, but one day I need to introduce you to Rudolph. Now there's a chap with issues. Luckily a lot of therapy and the lead role in my team has sorted him out, but seriously. He was really fucked up."

Wow. Santa cusses. How cool is that?

"What do you really want for Christmas?" Santa asks, smiling. And I notice his pnik cheeks and pink ears for the first time. I wonder if it comes from naturally being happy or from sniffing too much wood glue in the toy factory. What I do want? I want a dog. A baby. For Angus to not have so much stress and anger about estate agents. An engagement ring wouldn't go amiss. The trilogy diamond necklace. My family speaking to me and not being awful. Getting an agent and publishing a book. The ability to have a female ejaculation. A successful launch of the project I am working on. Acceptance from everyone in Angus' life. Laughter and happiness on Christmas Day.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

I am being unrealistic, I know.

"I don't want a lot for Christmas." I says slowly. "There's just one thing I need."

"Oh man. Don't do it." Santa groans.

"Don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree." I sing.

"Seriously, Helen. I am so sick of this. I hate that song, I swear." he says, putting his forehead in his hands.

"I just want you for my own. More than you could ever know." I sing.

"Seriously, if Mrs. Claus hears this she's going to make me go through relationship counselling again, and I just hate doing that. You should've seen the hassle we had to go through when Mariah did that song, and then when it was re-released in Love, Actually. It made my life hell. Don't think it's me that watches people, oh no! It's her!"

"Make my wish come true! All I want for Christmas is YOU!"

I stand up and climb on top of the table, glad I am wearing my Mary Janes today. The Starbucks guys behind the counter leap onto the countertop, tap shoes clicking on the coffee-stained surface. They swing Santa hats onto their head and grin wildly. A disco ball descends from the ceiling and lights up the brown and mustard walls. Background music starts pumping from inivisble speakers in the wall, the sub-woofer kicking up the floor.

Men in business suits start waving around their newspapers. Women stand up, high heels clacking. They grab bags of coffee beans that are arrayed nicely on the shelf and start gesticulating wildly with them.

"I don't need to hang my stocking, there upon the fireplace! Santa Claus won't make me happy with a toy on Christmas day!" I sing.

The sales people do wild cartwheels upon the glass display of scones. The businessmen are flinging the businesssuit wearing coffee wielding women around the floor like toys. Limited to singing on the table, I just stand there and shake my ass a lot.

"I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know! Make my wish come true! All I want for Christmas is you! All I want for Christmas is YOU! I sing, nailing the top note with a perfection I never seem to have in my kitchen.

With a flourish, people spin around the floor like tops. There are jazz hands abounding, smiles which put to shame toothpaste commercials. It is truly a Broadway moment.

I sit back down. Santa looks grumpy. "Oh no you di-uhnt." he says with disbelief.

"Oh yes I did." I say, tucking my microphone back in my briefacse.

"That's it. You're definitely off the good list." he says, gravelly voice gone.

"It had to be done, Santa. When's the last time you had a musical number? Christmas is all about the carols, right?" I ask, adjusting the buttons of my shirt again. "Hey-I could've really done a number, a la the masturbating Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys. You got off easy."

"True." he downs the last of his coffee. "So what do you really want, Sweetie? I have to get going now. There are a few American Embassy folk to talk to about their Christmas, and they aren't always in the best humor."

I look at the table and smile. What do I want? A colorful coat, a necklace. The ability to laugh at myself. An everlasting supply of Lush bath bombs.

"I want to get through Christmas and be happy without feeling like an outsider." I say finally. "I want people to love the gifts I got them. I want Angus' children to really love their Christmas. I want the Christmas dinner I am cooking to be a success." I look at the table and feel stupid. "I just want the people I know and love to be happy. It's so damn cheesy, but seriously it's the best thing you can give me."

He smiles. "You've really changed, Helen." He stands up and struggles on his coat. "I'll see what I can do about it all. You've been ok this year, Helen." he says, tugging on his scarf. "I think you should know that."

He smiles and walks to the door. As he opens it, he turns to me. "Oh! Before I forget! You know that pony you've been yearning for since you were 6?"

"Yes?" I ask, feeling my heart raise.

"Dream on, kid." he says, and leaves.

-H.

PS-many thanks to Simon. The sweet lovely boy sent me a gift (via Santa Claus). Thank you, babe. Honest.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 09:45 AM | Comments (28) | Add Comment
Post contains 2026 words, total size 11 kb.

1 Almost spit out coffee laughing so hard. Thanks for starting my day out smiling. Take Care Michael

Posted by: Michael at December 17, 2004 12:38 PM (2YQQw)

2 Definitely a coffee spitting moment here too. Thanks, Helen. You've started my day with a big smile. :-D

Posted by: Jim at December 17, 2004 01:23 PM (tyQ8y)

3 That was hilarious. Thank you so much for sharing!

Posted by: Jadewolff at December 17, 2004 01:44 PM (8MfYL)

4 Yet again, this is why I come to your fairy lit corner of the world, coffee in hand, first thing every morning. You so rock.

Posted by: karmajenn at December 17, 2004 01:56 PM (fx1A8)

5 This is some of the best writing I've seen from you yet, babe.

Posted by: Ms. Pants at December 17, 2004 02:00 PM (Zg+AA)

6 He takes a sip. "I would, but those damn elves are always on the broadband surfing porn." I knew it!!!

Posted by: pylorns at December 17, 2004 02:02 PM (FTYER)

7 WTF??? Deep Fried Pizza? Did you make this up? How drunk was the person who first did this?

Posted by: Easy at December 17, 2004 02:19 PM (U89mk)

8 Awww... I love that story, Helen. Thank you! And I, too, spit coffee when I got to the line about the elves surfing porn on the broadband.

Posted by: scorpy at December 17, 2004 02:19 PM (tahhx)

9 Seriously-there is such a thing as deep fried pizza in Scotland. I'd just like to know how they keep the cheese from melting.

Posted by: Helen at December 17, 2004 02:21 PM (QuLsu)

10 i love this story helen!! it made me smile, ear to ear. i often want life to break into a musical. wishing you a merry christmas. xoxox

Posted by: kat at December 17, 2004 02:50 PM (QkuGS)

11 You never cease to amaze me with your humor and insight Helen

Posted by: butterflies at December 17, 2004 03:23 PM (sUcgQ)

12 I have to agree with Ms. Pants. I think this is some of your best writing to date. Absolutely fabulous!

Posted by: Ice Queen at December 17, 2004 03:45 PM (F6gzK)

13 This is it. This is a story you should send out. This is an amazing piece. By an amazing woman. One I hope really does get all she wants for Christmas. And I would imagine they deep fry pizza the same way they deep fry cheese sticks. Right?

Posted by: amy t. at December 17, 2004 03:54 PM (zPssd)

14 I thought in Scotland the rage is deep fried MARS bars?

Posted by: Roger at December 17, 2004 04:36 PM (8S2fE)

15 Ahhh, now I get it! It was the subtle wit of it that I missed.

Posted by: Roger at December 17, 2004 04:44 PM (8S2fE)

16 Great story. Keep it up.

Posted by: Dave T. at December 17, 2004 07:29 PM (hkvGr)

17 Awesome!! Please write more!!! Merry Christmas!!!

Posted by: Azalea at December 17, 2004 08:14 PM (hRxUm)

18 Okay, am I the only one who saw "Deep-fried pizza" and thought "Damn, that sounds good"? See what happens when you're born and raised in the south. Great story, Helen!

Posted by: Lindsay at December 17, 2004 10:03 PM (srIAp)

19 Oh, Helen, submit this someplace next year before the holidays! Someone will publish it, I know they will. It's wonderful.

Posted by: ilyka at December 18, 2004 12:06 AM (RX1Jn)

20 Truly, a testament to the power of gingerbread lattes.

Posted by: B. Durbin at December 18, 2004 08:07 AM (mSKMG)

21 Hmmm a deep fried pizza is a panzeratti isn't it? Loved the Santa story - life should break into musical numbers all the time. Would certainly brighten up people's lives lol.

Posted by: lostdawill at December 18, 2004 11:20 AM (4sUFF)

22 You are the best writer I know. This was so good I want to print it out and share it with perfect strangers on the street. You rock, Helen. I hope your Christmas wishes all come true.

Posted by: RP at December 18, 2004 04:15 PM (Ss8by)

23 >>Okay, am I the only one who saw "Deep-fried pizza" and thought "Damn, that sounds good"?<< Come sit by me, Lindsay. Not only did I think it sounded good, but I also pictured it ON A STICK. Fuck yeah.

Posted by: Ms. Pants at December 19, 2004 01:59 AM (Kp23K)

24 "Almost spit out coffee laughing so hard. Thanks for starting my day out smiling" See, I almost spit out red WINE from laughing so hard. That's NOT cool Helen. Jesus, don't you think of anyone but yourself?

Posted by: Design at December 20, 2004 12:45 AM (8jkKi)

25 Great post! I need to run into Santa!

Posted by: Snidget at December 20, 2004 03:04 AM (MnHDs)

26 Oh my Helen, You almost made me cry. Somehow, in that post, you kinda captured what dissapeared from my Christmas a long time ago when I was a very little girl. beautiful. Maybe, I'll try and believe in Santa this year too..

Posted by: Onyx at December 20, 2004 04:02 AM (8g7sN)

27 Just when you thought, "Pizza couldn't possibly get one bit worse for me", they go and deep fry it. That CAN'T be good for you What's next, the delievery guy injecting a siringe full of cholestoral and fat directly into my heart? And sadly, I wish I had some

Posted by: Solomon at December 20, 2004 01:22 PM (k1sTy)

28 Wow---thank you for that wonderfully bizarre, touching, and FUNNY story!

Posted by: david at December 20, 2004 03:26 PM (ZVhuO)

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